


Candlelight

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ben is a good friend, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hanukkah, connor is being bullied, jewish ben collins, twelve days of fictmas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: Day One of Twelve Days of Fictmas!This is my first time trying to write anything for Hanukkah. I did a lot of research, but please let me know if I got something wrong or could have conveyed something better. I only have experience with Christmas, so I'd really like to learn.
Relationships: Ben Collins & Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055069
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> Day One of Twelve Days of Fictmas!
> 
> This is my first time trying to write anything for Hanukkah. I did a lot of research, but please let me know if I got something wrong or could have conveyed something better. I only have experience with Christmas, so I'd really like to learn.

The ambiance of Jimmy's Bar settled around Hank like an old, familiar coat. He'd been avoiding this place since the Revolution, seeking out android-friendly establishments instead. Not that Connor or the other androids ever came out drinking with him, but he wanted to show his support any way he could. But then he'd found out Jimmy had peeled that damn “No Androids” sign off his door three days ago (probably missing the regular business from the precinct) so Hank decided to check the place out.

It was pretty much the same as always, but Hank caught sight of a blue LED at one of the booths, as well as a few non-human drinks on the menu. It wasn't much but, hell, after the last month and a half of shit it was something.

He nursed his single beer (still had to drive home...and Connor would be right up his ass if he got behind the wheel intoxicated) and idly watched Jimmy's movements around the bar. He knew Jimmy had been pressured by the property owner to put that damn sticker on the door, so maybe it wasn't so surprising he'd torn it off the first chance he got. Android equality wasn't quite a law just yet but it seemed like only a matter of time, and there were plenty of businesses ready and willing to let old prejudices go.

Hank's phone chirruped with an incoming text and he let out a groan before tugging his phone out of his pocket. The precinct Christmas party was tonight, and Hank just wasn't feeling it. Not the non-alcoholic eggnog, not the “dirty Santa” gift exchange, not spending hours of his free time with the same assholes he got paid to be around. Now he'd forgotten to silence his phone and one of those jackasses was texting to ask where he was. Connor should have explained it.

He had his reply all planned out, but pulled up short when he saw the actual picture. He poked and prodded at his phone, pinching at the screen to zoom in, trying to decipher what he was seeing.

It was Connor's desk, and it was covered in...crap. Baby crap, specifically. There was some kind of garland that spelled out “Baby's First Christmas” draped over his monitor, and there were bibs and onesies and shit with the same kind of crap on them. Half his desk was taken up with little jars of baby food and a couple of bottles, his phone had been replaced with a cheap toy phone, and perched on the lamp was a tiny Santa hat with Connor's name embroidered on the band. A baby-sized Santa hat.

**Connor didn't want to tell you but I thought you should know. Ben's taking him home.**

Hank's eyes flicked up to see that Chris had sent him the messages. Well, shit, that was even worse. Chris had given Connor a gift earlier today—said Connor needed something special for his first Christmas. It wasn't tacky or childish like all this crap, just a candid photo of Connor his first day back at the DPD that Chris had put in a little brass frame. The frame just had the year engraved on it, nothing more, but apparently that was enough to set off some dipshit.

 **He okay** _?_ Hank typed back.

**He went all Stepford and said practical jokes are an important part of team integration.**

Hank swore. Practical jokes were when Tina kept changing the height of Connor's chair to see if he noticed, or when someone kept putting badly-written android erotica novels in the drawers of his desk. Not shit like this. Not lacing the station's supply of thirium with antifreeze, or destroying the clothes in his locker (the kid only owned like three things, come on), or “testing” a taser on Connor _at a fucking crime scene_.

But of course Connor just kept making excuses. He put on that fake smile, the one Chris and Tina started calling the Stepford after that old movie, and try to bullshit up some positive reaction. Hank was almost certain none of his people were doing the really malicious stuff—not even Gavin. He was a prick, sure, but he wouldn't screw around at an active crime scene. And Connor wasn't the only android at the station, so screwing around with the thirium supply affected a good portion of the workforce.

Hank threw back the last of his beer and tossed a couple bills on the counter before weaving his way through the rest of the crowd of customers out into the cold night. Damn. They'd been hoping things were getting better now that the android was a more familiar face around the precinct. Connor wasn't technically back on the force yet, though Hank was sure it was just a matter of time. He'd been hired on as an independent consultant, which still meant no badge and no gun but at least he was _there_.

He just wished the kid wasn’t facing an uphill battle just to be accepted.

Ben's car was still there when Hank pulled up. Hank felt something inside him loosen up at that—at least Connor hadn't been home alone stewing over that stupid-ass prank. He tugged his coat closed and trudged his way through the slushy snow to the door, fully expecting to find the two of them on the couch with an old movie playing on the TV.

Instead, he was met with the sound of sizzling oil and the smell of fried potatoes as soon as he opened the door.

“Okay, just flip it...just like I showed you,” Ben's voice echoed out from the kitchen.

There was a faint scraping sound, then the louder sizzle of something frying. “Good! That's perfect, Connor.”

Hank shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg behind the door. “Connor? Ben?”

The other man leaned his head out of the kitchen, the apron over his dark shirt splattered with flour. “Hey, Hank! Welcome home.”

“The hell's all this?” Hank asked, stopping to scratch Sumo behind the ears as he crossed the living room to get to the kitchen.

“Well, we thought it was high time to pass on a few old traditions,” Ben said, waving one hand toward Hank's table. There was a table runner laid out across the scarred wood, something deep blue with white and silver embroidery. And a nine-branched candlestick—a Menorah, Hank realized. The candle in the center was burning, as was the one on the far right side.

That's right. Ben was Jewish. So, what, they skipped the Christmas party so Ben could teach Connor about Hanukkah?

Hank settled into one of the kitchen chairs and just stared for a minute. Ben was wearing an obnoxiously colorful apron, one that was styled to look like those ugly Christmas sweaters you found everywhere. Hank knew that apron. That was what Connor had picked out to bring to the party for the gift exchange. As for Connor...he had on one of those over-sized striped hats with the big felt elf ears, plus matching slippers on his feet. The slippers had pointed toes. The pointed toes had _bells_.

“I'll repeat the question,” Hank said as he watched Connor stare at something in a frying pan. “What the hell is all this?”

“Ben's teaching me to make latkes,” Connor explained. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment and Hank stifled a laugh at the smear of flour on the android's chin.

“Christmas parties are overrated,” Ben announced, running a hand down the front of his apron. “I think these are ready, kiddo.”

As Connor hesitantly poked at the latkes in the frying pan while Ben held out a plate, Hank leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Hey, Ben, where's the dreidel?”

“Don't be stupid,” Ben called back. “We've got seven more nights, I'm not bringing out all my secrets on the first night...hang on, do you have a double boiler?”

“A what?” Hank accepted the ginger ale Connor handed him, and the plate with a single latke on it. “What the hell is that and why would I have one?” He bit into the latke, savoring the taste of crispy fried potato. Ben had invited him to a family Hanukkah dinner once, a long time ago, and his grandmother had been the one frying the latkes that night. Ben had obviously inherited her recipe.

“Well, we gotta make some gelt if you wanna play with the dreidel, Hank. It's tradition.”

Hank took a swig of ginger ale to wash down the last bite of his latke and watched Connor carefully placing more dough in the frying pan. “I thought you just spun the thing for laughs.”

Ben snorted. “That's 'cause you're an ignorant savage.”

“Damn straight!” Hank lifted his ginger ale in toast as Ben laughed. “So. What's gelt and why do I need that boiler thing?”

Connor's LED spun twice and he turned just enough to look at Ben .”Chocolate...money?”

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” Ben laughed. He patted Connor on the shoulder and dragged one of the kitchen chairs over next to him—close enough to be on hand if the android needed help cooking, but clearly settling down to tell a story. “You can buy it in stores, but my grandmother always insisted we make it at home....”

Hank rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand as Ben told Connor about his family and their traditions. Slowly, the peace of the room settled into him as the smell of potatoes, the sizzle of oil, and the warmth of candlelight washed away the frustration from the hazing Connor was getting at work.

They could deal with that tomorrow. Tonight they all deserved a little peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two: Threequinox - "The night the sun and the moons share the sky in equal portions!"


End file.
